Old Barn.

Weather beaten and frayed Rusty hinges cry against the wind; Many years spent staring down the sun And keeping the rain’s tin hammers

From having their way.

Light filters past motes That hang like fireflies, The quiet song of the loft Brings a smile to weary eyes And the dry smell of hay Clings to clothes and memories.

Stubborn old walls resolute; Watched folk and their beasts Pull food from the land And rest a night too short Before the rhythm rises And the floorboards shake With the drumbeat of the world.

Nothing built lasts on Time’s wheel But that old barn never asks To be more than what it is; Out there in the still dark air Holding back the tide ‘Till morning comes.